


I Don't Want Him, Someone Else Take Him

by qilathe



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Cannon Minor Character Death, Jefferson is kinda a dick, M/M, Unrequited Love, Zombies, Zombies Run fusion, okay maybe more than kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qilathe/pseuds/qilathe
Summary: Thomas' soulmate is brash and radical and married to someone else and he will never forgive him. Not even the end of the world can change that.





	I Don't Want Him, Someone Else Take Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is a minor Zombies, Run! fusion. I took some elements from the first season, but you don't need to have listened to/played it to follow the story.

Thomas has known who his soulmate was his entire life. Or at least, had a really good hunch. His mark read, in what was clearly a hurried scrawl like there wasn't enough time to get it out, _Mr. Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton_. Which was an introduction, had to be. When he was a kid, he'd always wondered what he should say in return, hoping for something good, something unique. He'd stayed up late trying to think of the best thing to say in response. James had listened to him go on about it so much that he had put a ban on talking about soulmarks altogether.

Of course, Thomas had grown up and fallen in love with people who weren't his soulmate. And then out of love. Sometimes the interval in between was longer than was... strictly acceptable for a relationship that wasn't between soulmates.

And then he'd heard of Alexander Hamilton in the news, and after a brief flush of excitement, he'd listened to the man talk and realized that he was _terrible._ Angry, radical, no manners, no respect for others. He was notorious for sleeping around (and if Thomas conveniently forgot that he was, too, that was his business). And he was... not much to look at. Attractive, sure, but not really the kind of person Thomas went for. And then there was the matter, of course, that he was married. To someone _other than Thomas._ So Thomas had decided that he never had to meet the man if he didn't want to, and that was that.

Of course, then the outbreak had happened, and a lot had changed. For one thing, it was practically impossible to meet or hear from anyone in particular. Thomas had been lucky enough to get swept up into a military base near New York, where he'd been at the time, and proved himself invaluable in negotiating for necessities with other surviving outposts.

But the guard changed frequently, and he was requested by name from an allied base who was much farther into contested territory than he was. And by _George Washington_ , to a place not at all far from Monticello. He'd agreed without questioning it, without asking any questions. He _hated_ winters in New England.

Of course he regretted it almost as soon as he arrived. He was greeted when he landed by Washington and a scrappy, smaller man that he didn't immediately recognize. “Welcome home, Mr. Jefferson,” Washington greeted warmly, shaking his hand.

The man with him extended his hand, and Thomas could see in the way that he moved that he was a runner. Lean. Not at all unattractive. Then the man opened his mouth, and introduced himself, “Mr. Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton.”

Thomas shook his hand politely, feigning total disinterest, “Catch me up to speed, general.”

“Just call me George,” Washington— _George—_ told him. He turned to Hamilton, “Alex, go make sure that Jefferson's quarters are ready.”

“Yessir,” Hamilton responded—and _right_ , they had served together. Had been near inseparable. Of course Hamilton was here.

“Thomas, please,” Thomas corrected George with a warm smile, sparing barely a glance for Hamilton as he ran—actually ran, why did runners always run everywhere, even when it wasn't necessary?—off to make sure everything was in order. He'd grabbed Thomas' duffel before he left, probably to put it in his quarters.

Thomas banished Hamilton from his thoughts as George started explaining the situation.

–

Hamilton, as it turned out, also had some sort of say in the local governing. Probably because he was George's pet project. Thomas, who had been set to avoid him, found that impossible. Two days later, he and Hamilton were arguing opposing points on alliances in front of what amounted to some sort of council. George had called it his Cabinet, with a wry grin, when Thomas had asked.

And afterward, after Hamilton had indignantly been pulled aside and had a whispered argument with George, he had sulked over to Thomas, who refused to dignify his presence by looking up from some paperwork he was looking over.

“Look,” Hamilton growled bitterly, “I know this is what you do, but I'm telling you, runners talk, even across hostile lines, and I know—”

“You don't have the votes,” Thomas cut him off ruthlessly. “Everyone else in George's cabinet has the good sense to—”

“What did you just say?” Hamilton asked him, voice cracking.

Thomas finally looked up, cocking his head to the side. He smiled, and he knew it was a little cruel but he didn't _care_ because Hamilton was wrong and a jerk and _had married someone else_. “You don't have the votes,” he repeated.

“That's—” Hamilton started.

“Oh, I know,” Thomas said smoothly. He unbuttoned his sleeve, pushing it up to show Hamilton his own words. “I don't like you. I never liked you. I could have found you before all this, but you'll see that I _didn't_. Having met you, I find I like you even less.”

Hamilton's entire face morphed, going from excited to hurt to feigned indifference, but Thomas could see right through that last. “Whatever,” Hamilton said, and his voice was strained, terribly strained, but Thomas didn't actually _care_ , that he'd hurt his feelings. “Runners talk, and I'm telling you, we need this alliance. There's something else—”

“You don't have the votes,” Thomas snaps, and takes a tiny bit of satisfaction in seeing the way Hamilton flinches as he says it. “And I think I've been perfectly clear that you aren't going to convince me. So get lost.”

Hamilton looks like he has something else to say, like he's going to fight Thomas every step of the way, but then he swallows, runs his hand over his face—a hand which, Thomas notes absently, is missing the wedding ring Thomas knows should be there. “Have a nice day, Mr. Jefferson,” he says curtly, instead of whatever argument he had prepared, turns sharply on his heel and leaves.

Thomas kind of wants to ask what happened with his marriage—Thomas has seen Eliza around, has done his best not to give her a dirty look, as he is friends with her sister—but as soon as the thought flits through his head, he pushes it down because he _doesn't care._ Hamilton is a dick anyway, Thomas has never wanted him.

–

Thomas is, on occasion, asked to take over for Laurens to direct the runners. Laurens clearly dislikes him, and Thomas thinks uncharitable that if the man really cared about the situation he wouldn't be _fucking Thomas' soulmate_. Regardless, this is Laurens' domain, and Thomas is never, _never_ allowed to direct Hamilton, which suits him just fine. He wouldn't want to anyways.

Then they get a distress message—a distress message from _James_ , who Thomas had thought was _dead—_ and he demands (begs, pleads, cries) that the best runners they have go after him. Even though James has admitted to being in hostile territory. Admitted to being _injured_ and in trouble.

George doesn't blink, though. He nods in agreement, and before Thomas has stopped trying to convince him, he is tapping his com, “Hamilton, Mulligan, report to the gates immediately. Laurens, to the booth.”

Thomas deflates as soon as he hears this. “Thank you. Thank you. _Thank you_.” He's maybe crying, he doesn't care. James is his _best friend._ Thomas had thought he was gone forever. He would do anything for the man.

“Go join Laurens,” George tells him softly.

Laurens has clearly already talked to George, hands him a pair of headphones. His tone is warm, compassionate even, when he tells Thomas, “Let me handle this. I'll make sure he gets back.”

And it's going well. It's going _shockingly_ well. Hamilton and Mulligan are _fast_. Faster than any of the runners Thomas has been allowed to direct, even Lafayette, who was an old friend of both himself and Hamilton, and who had declared himself a neutral party, refusing to take a side in this. He thinks Hamilton maybe resents him for it, but he's never asked. He never asks about Hamilton. _Ever_.

It's going well until it suddenly _isn't_. The hostiles _aren't_ zombies, like they'd thought. No, they're some sort of organized militia, and they are shooting at Hamilton and Mulligan, and the runners aren't prepared for organized opposition, were expecting nothing worse than fast zombies, and Laurens is telling them to _turn back_ that their lives _aren't worth this_ , and Thomas is wresting the microphone from him, elbowing him in the face hard enough to probably break the other man's nose, before he even knows he's doing it. “Alexander, _don't you dare_ ,” he hisses—or maybe shouts, he's not sure—into the microphone. And since when is he Alexander and not Hamilton? It doesn't matter, because they can't leave James—James is hurt and helpless and alone and who knows what these people would do to him.

And Thomas knows, deep in his bones, knows that Hamilton hates him. That he is bitter and will leave James behind just to spite him, but then Hamilton says, “Yessir,” and Thomas can see his tracker turning around, running back towards the militia.

Then Thomas is on the floor before he knows it, cracking his head so hard that he sees stars and thinks he might puke.

“Alex, turn your ass back around and come home this minute,” Laurens is shouting into the mic.

“No can do, John, sorry,” Hamilton says, voice even, not sounding out of breath or concerned at all. Like he's having a pleasant conversation about not being able to pick up milk on his way home.

“Alex! Alex, come back! Alex, please,” he whispers the last one, clearly desperate. They're best friends. John is maybe in love with him.

“I can't leave him, John.”

“Herc,” Laurens pleads. “Get him. _Please—_ ”

“There's no way I can catch him, John. Do you want me to—?”

John takes a deep breath. “No. No, come home. I can't—I can't lose both of you.”

“Okay,” Mulligan says, his voice gentle.

And then Thomas is dragged out of the room, his headphones yanked off his head, and he is thrown into one of the rooms they've been using as _jail cells_ , and he's alone.

–

He's there for hours. Longer than it would take for Hamilton to return with James. The thought makes him more nauseous than the head wound did. He scratches at his soulmark compulsively, coming the horrible realization that he may have just gotten his best friend and his soulmate killed in one fell swoop. Because James was good at hiding. James probably would have been able to hide. They could have sent someone else later. Oh god, _what did he do._

The door opens, and Lafayette steps in, closing the door behind him. His expression is cold, but softens when he sees that Thomas is crying. He crosses the room and sits next to him. He's silent for a moment before the Frenchman says sharply, “I am still not taking sides, but you 'ave _no right_ to use 'is feelings for you to make 'im do whatever you want. If you ever do it again, I swear—”

“Do it again,” Thomas asks, latching on to that tiny piece of hope. He sounds desperate, but he figures he is desperate, so it's just as well.

“Mmm,” Lafayette says instead of answering. “People are very much not 'appy with you right now, Thomas. I 'ad to pull some strings to keep them from _banishing_ you. The cabinet is in uproar, even Washington is—”

“Gil,” Thomas whispers. “Gil, please.”

Lafayette sighs. “James is 'ere. 'e is in the 'ospital, being looked over. 'is arm is broken, an' 'e appears to 'ave pneumonia, but the doctor says 'e will be fine.”

“And Hamilton?” His voice is barely audible, but he feels Lafayette stiffen anyways.

“I'm surprised you care.”

“Gil...”

“'e made it back. Barely. 'e passed out from blood loss as soon as 'e got 'ere. There were no major injuries, though. 'e should be fine, but 'e is still unconscious, and 'e will be out of commission for a while. I'm sure 'e will not be 'appy about it, but then, 'e is doing much better than most people who get shot.”

Thomas pales, feels sick. His right hand grips his left forearm, over his mark, so hard that his knuckles go white.

Lafayette stands and heads for the door. “When James is cleared to move, I will bring 'im to see you. 'e 'as been asking after you. I told 'im you were fine.” He pauses with his hand on the door handle. “Someone will bring you dinner. If it is John, don't eat it.”

Hours later, Laurens brings Thomas his dinner. He's too nauseous to eat anything, even without Lafayette's warning.

–

James visits him the next morning, Lafayette bringing him in and standing in silence, jaw clenched as James and Thomas talk. Thomas just hugs him, holding him tightly for longer than is comfortable, but he can't bring himself to care. “I thought you were dead,” he breathes into James ear.

“Well, I'm not,” James responds, sounding amused and pulling back. “You know, I thought you'd come see me, but then I heard you mutinied on my behalf and were locked up. I'm glad your friend here agreed to bring me down.”

“I'm so glad you're alive,” Thomas tells him seriously.

James shakes his head, smiling indulgently. “You know, Hamilton doesn't seem so bad.”

Lafayette stiffens at the mention of Hamilton. Thomas only gets to talk to John for a few more minutes before he is taken back to go lay in bed.

And then, it's three days before he sees anyone who isn't bringing him food.

Later, he finds out that they only release him because once Hamilton was awake enough to know what was going on he had thrown an absolute tantrum and _demand_ _ed_ that Thomas be released.

–

Thomas is emphatically _not_ allowed to direct runners anymore. In fact, there are rumblings that they are going to send him back to New York. George seems to have forgiven him, albeit begrudgingly, but the rest of the Cabinet (which he is no longer a part of) is apparently far less lenient.

After a week, Hamilton, who still looks pale, walks into his first Cabinet meeting since the incident. Within the hour, Thomas is reinstated both to the cabinet and his position directing runners. He's desperate to know what Hamilton said, but he also thinks he maybe doesn't _want_ to know.

Hamilton is even more careful to avoid him now than before, and Thomas can't say he blames him. But he's desperate to say _something_ to the man, to thank him or to apologize... to somehow convey his gratitude and regret and _everything_ , so he persists.

Eventually, he catches Hamilton, though he thinks that he was allowed to more than having outsmarted the man.

“Hamilton, I just... I wanted to... to thank you. And to apologize. I should never—”

“He's your best friend,” Hamilton tells him, and his voice is so devoid of emotion that it _hurts_. “And you didn't _make_ me do anything. Everyone needs to stop acting like you have some sort of fucking _sway_ over me. He was in trouble. I haven't yet left someone behind that needed my help.”

“Hamilton, I—”

“Call me Alex,” he corrects, voice sounding cold. “Everyone here calls me Alex.”

“Alex, then. I'm just—just so grateful. If... if he had... if they had taken him...”

Alex's demeanor softens, and he tentatively presses his hand to Thomas' shoulder reassuringly. “Well, he's here. He's fine. I'm fine. Everyone is fine. It's no use worrying over things that could have happened.” Alex pauses for a moment. “He seems like a great guy.”

“What happened with you and Eliza?” Thomas blurts, not even knowing he was thinking it until it is out in the air between them.

Alex furrows his brow. “You knew...?” He shakes his head. “Her soulmate died when she was a teenager. She wanted a family. We agreed to... if I met my—well _you—_ we had a pre-nup drafted up and everything would be amicable and—well, it doesn't matter. Our son, Phillip, died in the initial outbreak. Our relationship didn't survive it.”

“I—oh,” Thomas says softly. He kind of wishes he'd never heard that, because now he feels unbelievably petty because _of course there was a pre-nup_. It was so common that he _should have known._ “That sucks.”

“Hmm,” Alex responds, noncommittally. “I have to go. My first run back is in a few minutes. Have a good day, Jefferson.”

“Thomas.” His voice sounds so small.

“Thomas, then.” Alex turns on his heel.

“You, too,” Thomas says, but it's too late and too quite, and Alex doesn't hear it.

–

Thomas keeps his head down after that. He speaks up concisely and quietly at cabinet meetings when he is called upon. He gives exact directions to runners, speaking only when it is required of him. He spends most of his free time with James and, occasionally, Angelica. Lafayette says that he's forgiven, but he also seeks out Thomas' company so rarely that the assertion falls flat.

And Alex, well. They had never really spoken, but now when they have occasion to it is, at least, civil. Thomas finds himself wishing, at times rather desperately, that he had been less bitter when they first met. That he'd been reasonable and fair and kind. Because now that he was past all that himself, he found that he actually _likes_ Alex. The man is a fierce friend. He never compromises his morals. He is, despite everything Thomas had ever thought about him, a good and kind man.

But the fact of the matter is that Thomas had summarily destroyed any chance he ever had at being with his soulmate, and as Alex had told him, it's no use worrying over what might have been, so Thomas tries, really _tries_ , to put the man out of his mind, but it's of little use. As soon as he's started thinking of the man in a positive light, it's almost impossible to _stop_ thinking of him. But every time he tries to push the man from his mind, Alex does something particularly daring and heroic or insanely clever, and Thomas is left right back where he started.

The militia that Alex had run through to get to James was unaffiliated (supposedly) with the nearby group that they were feuding with, and they are getting more active every day. It slowly becomes common practice to send runners out in groups of three or more, certainly never by themselves, and to have several groups of runners out in the field that need to be coordinated, leaving Laurens and Thomas working simultaneously.

It's on one of these such runs that all hell breaks loose. Laurens is coordinating Alex, Mulligan, and Lafayette, who are out on a reconnaissance mission while Thomas works with Burr and Angelica and two other pairs of runners on resupply missions. Thomas is interrupted by Laurens suddenly shouting, “What the fuck did you just say? What do you mean a rocket launcher? THERE IS NO FUCKING—”

The explosion knocks Thomas unconscious, he doesn't know how long for. When he comes to, the room is on fire, their equipment is all destroyed, and he has to struggle to get debris off himself to get up. His ears are ringing so loudly he can hardly hear, but he looks around and sees Laurens, his equipment upturned onto him, bleeding and unconscious. He moves everything off the other man, and Laurens moans but doesn't open his eyes. Something sparks and part of the ceiling caves in, and Thomas instinctively puts his body over Laurens' head to protect him. The man may hate Thomas, but he is Alex's best friend, and Thomas couldn't bring himself to leave the man here even if he had been trying to kill him. Once the dust settles, Thomas scoops John into his arms and picks his way out of the building, carefully avoiding fires and falling debris as he goes.

Outside, the camp is in chaos. Buildings are on fire or totally collapsed. He can see that there is a small army headed towards the camp. There's no way to get in contact with the runners out in the field. God willing, they can help themselves. Thomas puts Laurens down and starts shouting for everyone to stop panicking so they can evacuate.

The camp settles almost immediately, like they were just waiting for a voice of reason. They load the wounded into the one massive SUV that they have, including both Laurens and Washington, _Jesus Christ_. James gets behind the wheel and drives at breakneck speed towards the only nearby encampment they think they can trust. The one they've been accusing of being this militia the entire time, now that it is entirely clear that they _never were_.

The rest follow behind, moving as quickly as they can. They take only the barest of essentials, the absolutely irreplaceable with them. As the majority of them are leaving, Thomas runs into the bunks, the only building still standing, and grabs his duffel, shoving everything that he knows or thinks is irreplaceable in it. Once he has his own few scant positions, he moves to James' room. Then Alex. Then Lafayette, Laurens, Mulligan. His duffel is absurdly heavy, but he slings it over his shoulders and makes his way out.

Eliza and Peggy have waited for him, each holding equally full bags. The three of them run after the rest, having waited recklessly long to head out, but no one follows them.

–

The wounded—the wounded that they'd been able to save and shove into the SUV, at least—are all in the clear within 24 hours. Not out of the woods, but almost certainly going to be okay. The outpost had taken them in more readily than Thomas had expected, but apparently Alex had been right. The runners talked, and there was no resistance at all to take in the refugees and offer them food and shelter and medical care.

The six runners that Thomas had been directing had made it in. Alex, Lafayette, and Mulligan were all missing in action. Then it was 48 hours. 72 hours. One night out in the winter cold with no supplies and no back up was dangerous. Three was unsurvivable. But Thomas and Laurens would not let George (or anyone else) declare them dead.

In those three days, Thomas and Laurens went from enemies to allies. They're sitting in the mess hall on the morning of the fourth day, quietly discussing what to do now that a search party has been roundly dismissed.

“They can't house us indefinitely,” Thomas muses.

Laurens nods in agreement. “Eventually they will have to turn us out. We'll need somewhere to go.”

“Monticello—my old home—is near here,” Thomas tells him. “There was a state-of-the-art security system. Lots of solar and wind power installments. I don't think any zombies could have gotten in, and I've never heard of any settlements near there.”

“Your old home?” Laurens asks skeptically. “How many people could it possibly house?”

“It used to be a plantation. There are multiple buildings on the property, and plenty of room to construct more. And lots of usable farmland.”

Laurens considers this. “We could propose it to Washington.”

“George likes me. I think we could convince him, Laurens.”

“John.”

“John,” Thomas agrees easily. “We propose it to George, get ourselves set up, maybe come up with an excuse to go out on a scouting mission there. Maybe take a diversion to look for them. Frankly, it's quite close to where you last saw them.”

John nods once. “Let's propose it.”

–

Thomas isn't quite sure how they convince George, but within 2 hours, Thomas is leading Angelica, Burr, and John to Monticello. They arrive with little incident, and the land is as free of zombies as Thomas had expected. They slowly clear all the buildings, starting with the smallest, and continuing with growing confidence. They finish with the farm house, Thomas and John taking one wing while Burr and Angelica take the other. They keep their guns raised the whole time, pounding from room to room without incident. As Thomas throws open the door to what was once his own bedroom, a familiar voice shouts out, “Don't shoot!”

Thomas drops his gun, and before he can react, John is across the room dragging Mulligan into a fierce hug. He let's them hold each other, politely ignores their tears, standing in the doorway with his back to them and his gun pointed at the floor but with the safety still off. Eventually, he has to cut in, though. “Where are Alex and Lafayette?”

Mulligan looks up at him, considering. “They left a couple hours ago on a supply run. They should be back soon.”

Thomas' head jerks around when he hears a commotion from the main living area and he is taking long strides towards it in a heartbeat. In the doorway he sees Angelica and Burr greeting a shocked-looking Alex and Lafayette. “How on Earth did you find us?” Alex is asking.

“We actually weren't looking for you,” Angelica tells him, flushing slightly. “We were scoping out a new base.”

“How did you find this place?” Alex presses.

“It's actually my house,” Thomas tells them, startling them all with his presence.

Alex's eyes go wide with shock, and he falls totally silent. It's Lafayette who summons the presence of mind to say, “We saw—we saw them blow up the communications building. 'ow are you alive?”

“It didn't—”

“John!” Alex yelps and runs across the room, towards Thomas, but then throws himself at the figure emerging into the room behind him.

John catches Alex easily, and Thomas tries to ignore the way it makes his chest ache with jealousy and what-ifs. “Oh thank god,” John breathes.

“You're alive,” Alex sniffs. “I—we thought you were—we saw your building blow up.”

“Sh, sh,” John soothes him, rubbing circles into the runner's back. “I'm alright. Thomas pulled me out, and we headed over to ask your runner friends for help.”

Somehow that makes Alex start sobbing in earnest. “I—I thought you—I thought I would never—”

“Hush, love, I'm alright. George is, as well. And Peggy and Eliza. They’re safely bunkered down with the rest of—”

Alex grabs John even more fiercely, knocking the air out of him. Then he pulls back, rubbing his face on his sleeve. He turns on his heel to face Thomas. “Thank you,” he says, nodding curtly before crossing back to Lafayette.

Thomas closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He feels his hands shaking and carefully turns the safety on before tucking his pistol into it's holster. He slumps against the wall behind him as John and Hercules join the rest of the group in the entryway. They are discussing in quick voices what they are going to do next, and Thomas can't follow the conversation, his whole being chanting to him that _he's alright, Alex is alright, my soulmate is safe._

He's brought back to the present by John sharply calling, “Thomas?”

He pushes himself off the wall and crosses towards them. “Yes?”

“It's going to get dark soon. We are out of coms range, they are going to be worried that no one has checked in,” John tells him.

Thomas nods once. “I'll head back to give them an update. This place is safe for the night, y'all might as well stay here,” he offers, ignoring the part of him that doesn't want to let Alex out of his sight because he had thought his soulmate was _dead_.

“You shouldn't go by yourself,” John starts, but Thomas waves him off.

“I'll be fine. There were no incidents on our way here.”

John looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, then nods. “Alright. But you better be back here with the rest in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas agrees, and then he's out the front door, heading back. He can feel his chest clench and the words on his arm burn as he walks away, fighting every instinct in his body that tells him to turn around, grab Alex, and never let him go. Alex wasn't _his_. They may be soulmates, but Alex didn't want anything to do with him, had barely acknowledged him, had grabbed John instead—

“Thomas!” Alex calls from the front stoop before running after him.

Thomas stops, turns towards Alex, head tilted to the side, waiting for whatever Alex has to say.

But instead of saying anything, Alex throws his arms around Thomas, and Thomas isn't sure what to do with that, but he puts his hands on Alex's back and squeezes him, eyes closed to keep back tears. Alex pulls back a second later, and Thomas feels the loss like a physical ache, barely mitigated by the fact that Alex has left his hands on his shoulders. “I'm glad you're okay,” Alex tells him seriously.

Thomas nods, swallowing against tears. “Yeah, I'm—I'm glad you're okay, too.” His voice comes out raspy with emotion, but he can't help it.

“I'm coming back with you,” Alex tells him.

“No,” Thomas disagrees immediately. “The people you care about are _here_ , and you've already been on a run today, you need to rest.”

Alex furrows his brows at Thomas, refusing to back down. “I'm fine, I don't need to rest, it was hardly a run—”

“Alex,” Thomas says patiently. “Alex, I will be fine. I don't need an escort. You should stay here, look after—”

“I care about you, you dick,” Alex snaps, startling Thomas. “If you don't want to be around me, just fucking say so and I'll send Burr with you, but don't put this on _me._ ”

Thomas blinks, then bites his lip, breathing in deeply through his nose. “I don't... I can hardly stand to be this far away from you,” Thomas admits, looking at the sky instead of at Alex. “But I already—I already fucked that up, and I don't have the right to—”

Whatever else he was planning on saying is swallowed by Alex as he jerks Thomas' face down, pulling him into a fierce and entirely unexpected kiss. Thomas kisses back automatically, hands reaching out for Alex's sides. Alex sighs into it, tongue flicking out to ask entrance to Thomas' mouth, which Thomas allows without a second thought, his mind swirling with confusion and the desperate feeling of _this is real, this is my soulmate, this is Alex._

And then Alex is pulling back, breathing heavily. He smiles at Thomas before folding himself against him, his face pressed into Thomas' neck. “Life is to short to be bitter about something like that, especially now,” Alex murmurs. “I—I thought you were dead. I thought that you had been so angry when you met me because when you first found me I was married and I had never thought how you would feel about that, and then I held that against you and it wasn't fair and I was never going to get a chance to even _hug_ you and it was all over something so _stupid_.”

“I should have known better,” Thomas says softly. “I should have been more fair when I first heard that you were married. I should have—”

“Doesn't matter now,” Alex interrupts diplomatically. “Let's just... let's just run out into radio range, tell them everything is fine and come back.”

All the tension leaves Thomas at once, his arms coming back around Alex as his eyes slip shut. “Yeah. That sounds good. It won't be so far.”


End file.
